Like Lions
by like-lions
Summary: Spencer Reid never imagined that he would have a 15-year-old son with Asperger's syndrome. He never imagined that he would have a 15-year-old son to begin with. And he certainly never imagined he would meet him under these circumstances.
1. Chapter 1

"Mother, we cannot have dinner this late. We are far past our scheduled time slot and now it is almost time for bed," 15-year-old Lucas George explained as his mother grabbed a hot plate out of the microwave. "Ten minutes and forty seconds, mother – ten minutes and thirty seven seconds…"

"Lucas, you have to eat," his mother Alice said. "You can't just skip dinner."

"I would not have to skip dinner if you had not forced me to eat dinner at 9:51," he said. "Dinner is at 6:30 sharp, mother."

Alice dropped the plate covered in some unrecognizable frozen dinner onto the table in front of him. His face dropped.

"This is not spaghetti. Tonight is spaghetti night."

He picked at the plate. He assumed it was supposed to be meatloaf; possibly served with mashed potatoes and some kind of green vegetable.

All he knew was it wasn't spaghetti without the sauce like he liked.

"Lucas, please," Alice said, rubbing her face. "I had to work a second shift at the store, you know that. I didn't have time to make spaghetti. Don't you have a time limit to attend to?"

"This plate is not yellow. In fact, it has nothing yellow on it. I do not want it. Good night, mother," Lucas said, stepping off the bar stool and walking up the stairs to his bedroom.

Alice George knew having a child at 14 was going to be hard. But having an autistic child as a teenager was harder. She grabbed the plate of rejected dinner and tossed it in the trash.

She never even noticed the man dressed in black right behind her.

* * *

"There have been a series of murders in the Las Vegas area," Agent Aaron Hotchner said, bringing up several pictures on the screen in front of the team.

"This isn't out of the ordinary for Las Vegas, or any area with a high population of people between the ages of 18 to 35," Agent Spencer Reid said. "An interesting statistic found that—"

"Yes, well these murders are slightly more specific than that," Hotch said as he pulled up three separate headshots of women. "Erin St. James, 27, murdered in her bedroom. No sign of forced entry, her throat was slit. Alice George, 29. It's apparent that she was attacked in her kitchen from drag marks seen on the floor, and subsequently dragged upstairs to her bedroom where he finished the murder..."

Reid couldn't help but feel a tinge of familiarity when he heard Alice's name. After taking a closer look at her picture, he knew why.

She was the only person his age that would talk to him when he was younger. When he visited from college to check on his mom, she was always there to keep him company.

And now she was dead.

"…Alexandra Spicolli, 25, murdered in her car and dragged into her home to be left in her bedroom."

"He's bold. Taking a big risk dragging them back to their rooms to die," Agent Derek Morgan said.

"The risk is even greater in these three cases – each of the women had children in the house at the time of the murders," Hotch said. "Alexandra Spicolli had a son in the car. He was asleep at the time. Erin St. James had 5-year-old twin girls in the bathtub when she died. Alice George had a 15-year-old son in the next room."

"And he didn't hear anything?" Agent Emily Prentiss asked.

"He won't answer any questions right now," Hotch said. "He's currently a ward of the state."

"And he's our only witness," Reid said, sighing.

* * *

Reid was silent for the first half of the trip to Las Vegas. He had a lot to think about. For one, his only childhood friend was dead. And she had a 15-year-old son. Spencer Reid wasn't a mathematician, but he could do simple subtraction.

The last time he saw Alice, they were 14.

He had to go back to college, and she, after being understanding about the situation for so long, didn't want him to go back.

He was trying to get a Master's degree. Staying in Las Vegas wasn't an option.

Obviously, she didn't take this well.

Although most of the team saw Reid as some sort of asexual robot, he wasn't. His relationship with Alice was proof of that.

"Reid? Reid," Prentiss said, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Oh, thanks," he said, putting it to the side.

"You've been quiet for the entire trip. Something on your mind?" she asked, taking a seat across from him.

Reid shook his head.

"What?"

"I haven't been quiet for the 'entire' trip; the trip is only halfway finished. The 'entire' trip would mean the whole of the trip, and we're only half of the way there. It's illogical," he rambled.

"Look, Reid, if you have a problem with me, that's fine. I was just wondering what was wrong because you've been looking a little shaken lately," she said, getting up.

"Wait. Emily, wait," he said.

"First name basis – this must be serious," she said. "So are you gonna spill your guts or are you just going to leave the feelings bottled up?"

"One of the victims," Reid said, gulping hard. "I know—knew her."

"Oh my god, I'm…so sorry."

"Yeah…so am I," he said, opening the manila folder on his lap and pulling out the clean, beautiful headshot of Alice George, the most recent victim.

"She was gorgeous," Prentiss said, looking down at the photograph.

And she was; long blonde hair that reached below her shoulders, large dark blue eyes, and a set of orangey-red freckles that seemed out of place on her.

Reid remembered back to when they were 13.

* * *

_Alice had on a frilly white dress with a blue ribbon around the waist. Her mother made her wear it, and she hated it. They had just come from a funeral service for Alice's grandmother. She had asked Spencer to come with her – she didn't want to have to say goodbye to her grandmother alone._

_Alice's mother was in the hospital at the time. Cancer had stripped her of the vibrant life that she always used to exude. Alice's father died when she was four in a bar fight. All that Alice had left was her mother and grandmother._

_Now she only had her mother._

_Spencer hated the suit that his mom made him wear. Alice and Spencer complained about their parent's choice in wardrobe during the wake._

_The farm where the wake was held used to belong to Alice's grandparents. It lied on a sprawling piece of land covered in daisies and huge oak trees. It had a tire swing and a tree house on the outskirts of the field._

_That's where they spent the majority of the wake. Sitting on the tire swing that fit them both, telling stories and jokes._

_Life away at college was strange for Spencer. Being a 13-year-old living on a college campus was strange, especially when you were living without a parent. So he always cherished these small moments he got to spend with Alice. The moments when he could just be a "normal" teenage boy._

_The moments when he could have friends – maybe even a girlfriend._

_That day including conversations about that horrible girl Anna down the road. She had been messing with Alice since she moved here six months ago._

_Things had since cooled off between the pair, but Spencer couldn't help feeling like he missed something – a crucial part of his friend's summer. No matter how insignificant it seemed._

"_She said that I must be a redhead because I have freckles. I told her no, but she didn't believe me."_

"_She's just jealous. And even if you were a redhead, you'd still be pretty."_

_Things like that were rewarded in smiles. She had the prettiest smile Spencer had ever seen._

_She was lucky and never needed braces. Her teeth were pearly white and perfectly straight; a rarity for someone their age._

_Alice always smiled with her teeth. She thought smiles without teeth were like bunnies without fur._

"_Lies," she said, giggling._

_

* * *

_

"What I wouldn't give to see that smile again," Reid said, looking down at the headshot in his hands.

She was smiling. With her teeth.

_**A/N: Sorry for the crazy amount of stacking quotes in the story so far. I had a lot to set up. Next chapter, coming soon. Reviews are great. :) **_


	2. Chapter 2

_Something's bound to happen_

_I can tell just by the whispers of the night_

**Like Lions** by The Queen Killing Kings

_

* * *

_

Pulling up to the George house, it was clear that Alice George wasn't the under the radar type of woman. Neighbors crowded around, crying hysterically. The scene was surrounded by news cameras and citizens concerned about the well being of Alice's teenage son.

Reid pulled his messenger bag closer to his body. Inside was the picture of Alice he grabbed out of her file. He didn't want that picture to be lying below the crime scene photos. The photos were grotesque in nature – it was obvious that she put up a fight. Her hands took the brute of the beating, the nails bloodied and cracked. It wasn't a pretty sight, and certainly not something that should be compared to her work I.D. photo. They looked nothing alike.

Prentiss noticed Reid's discomfort, choosing not to say anything. He didn't want to tell her about his connection to the case, so he certainly didn't want to tell the rest of the team – not then, not ever.

"Welcome back, Aaron," sheriff Marie Canuck said, extending her hand to Hotch. "I wish it could have been under better circumstances…"

Reid lowered his head.

"Anyway, we need to jump right into this case. He's killed three women in five days. We can't risk another body," sheriff Canuck said.

* * *

The sheriff led them through the crowd and into the home of Alice George. The home was practically spotless. Everything was categorized and wiped clean. Color was absent throughout, the only color being various accents in each room.

"Was the place cleaned?" Morgan asked, walking carefully into the foyer.

"Nope, it was this way when we got here. The crime scene is upstairs," sheriff Canuck said, leading them up the stairs.

The walls were lined with photographs of a young boy through the years, framed in black. They were straightened and perfect, Prentiss noticed, except for one at the top of the stairs.

Suddenly, a tall blonde boy pushed through the group, sprinting towards the picture. He realigned it and retreated to a room down the hall.

"That would be Lucas," sheriff Canuck said. "He's a…a special kid. He's got autism. Aspergers, I think."

Reid looked up for the first time since he entered the home. Autism. It would explain the boy's complete lack of concern for the safety of the team while pushing them aside to fix a picture.

He just shook it off as typical adolescent behavior.

"Is that why he is refusing to answer questions?" Rossi asked, looking down the hall.

Shadows were present at the doorway of the boy's room. He was listening in on them.

"Maybe," the sheriff said. "I always thought he was just stubborn. In the years I've known him, Lucas has never been chatty or personable. I just thought it was Luke being…well, Luke."

Audible muttering came from the doorway.

"You got something to say, son?" the sheriff called out.

More muttering.

"I am not Luke. Luke is a character from Star Wars. I am Lucas," he called out from the bedroom.

Hotch walked up to the boy's room, peering inside.

"Lucas. This is very important. We need to ask you a few questions, and your answers might be able to help us find out who hurt your mother," he said, calmly.

The boy scoffed loudly.

"My mother is not hurt," Lucas said, standing next to the doorframe. "She is dead."

The team stiffened.

"Miss Canuck," he said, taking a few steps out of the doorway. "If you are so eager to converse, riddle me this: where am I expected to live now?"

The sheriff's face dropped. It had always been on her mind, but it wasn't as important as catching a serial killer targeting young mothers, so she pushed it out of her mind. Until now.

"Precisely," Lucas said, matter-of-factly. "I will answer whatever questions you have for me, but not until someone answers mine."

Lucas walked back into his room and shut the door.

"Oh," he shouted through the door. "And I know what a 'ward of the state' is. Do not try and sugar-coat it for me."

* * *

The team sat with the local police officers and sheriff Canuck in the living room of the George family.

"This home is centrally located between all the crime scenes, so it will serve as a good home base for the investigation," the sheriff explained to her officers.

They nodded and went back out on patrol – Rossi told them to keep an eye out on any suspicious activity in parks and around schools. The unsub could possibly be finding his victims at public places where they are with their children.

"I think a major problem still remains – we need to get the kid's statement. He's the only one who knows what happened that night other than the killer," Morgan said, frustrated.

For the past two hours they had been sitting in the living room, one team member at a time going up to attempt to talk with Lucas to no avail. He was really starting to piss everyone off.

"Morgan's right," Prentiss said, taking a seat on the couch. "We need to build a profile before another woman is murdered. We can't just sit around and wait for a 15-year-old to change his attitude and talk to us."

Prentiss was the first to try to talk to the boy. She tried to talk about sports, video games, school, friends; nothing worked. He was silent for 15 minutes straight.

Rossi went next, telling the boy that no one would be upset if he couldn't remember everything from that night. That it would be okay.

Lucas threw a rock at the door.

Morgan was pissed off by his turn. He played bad cop and Lucas finally started to come out of his silent state.

He screamed and kicked the door.

Then he locked it.

"Maybe it would be faster if we just found out where he's going," Reid said, speaking up for the first time in the hour they had been sitting there. "He obviously is sticking to his guns. It doesn't look like he's planning on giving up anytime soon."

Prentiss glanced over, catching Reid's eye. He knew what she was thinking.

_He's a ward of the state. That means they can't find any living family or anyone willing to take him in. He is going to end up in foster care, you know that._

"We still have a few options," sheriff Canuck said. "He can go into foster care..."

Prentiss sighed. Reid's eyes drifted back to his feet.

"…we haven't looked into his father, yet. It was unlisted on his most recent birth certificate, but he has two."

"Was he adopted?" Reid asked. He had never considered that. He was almost sure, however, there were limitations on the potential age difference between mother and child in an adoption. And the likelihood of a single teenager or 20-something adopting a healthy baby? Slim to none.

"No, his mother just chose to take the father's name off the birth certificate when the boy turned five. So he wouldn't take his last name in school," the sheriff explained.

"How soon can we get the records?" Hotch asked.

"I'm sure they're down at the hospital somewhere. He was born in this town, so they can't have gone far," Canuck said.

Hotch shook his head.

"That will take too long," he explained. "Morgan, call Garcia and tell her to run a background check on Lucas George, find his birth certificate and track down the father."

Reid blanched. Prentiss noticed.

"Are you sure we can't just go down to the hospital ourselves? I'm sure they'll have it somewhere, plus, it's probably a sealed file, so…" Prentiss said.

"We cannot have this boy interfering with this case any longer," Hotch said. "If we wait and another woman dies then the blood will be on our hands."

Morgan dialed Garcia's number.

"Yes, my love?" Garcia said, answering the phone in her usual cheery voice.

"Hey, baby girl, we need you," Morgan said. "Can you run a background check on Lucas George? We need to track down his original birth certificate and his father."

"I sure can, sweet cheeks," Garcia said, her keyboard strokes audible through the phone. "Lucas George…is that the son of the third murder victim?"

"Sure thing," Morgan said.

"Poor kid, I'm sure he's scared half to death," Garcia said, sadly.

Morgan laughed.

"He's been toying with us like play things for the last two hours," Morgan said. "If this is his way of expressing grief, he's got a weird way of showing it."

"Got it," Garcia said. "Okay, Lucas David George, born June 14th, 1995 to Alice George, diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome when he was nine. That would explain his nasty behavior."

"Doesn't excuse it," Morgan said. "Can you find his father?"

"Way ahead of you," she said, happily. "Loading, loading, loading…Okay. Lucas David George, born blah blah blah to Alice George and…oh."

"What is it, baby girl?" Morgan asked.

"Did she find the father?" Hotch asked.

"Lucas David George, born June 14th, 1995 to Alice George and…Spencer Reid."

* * *

_**A/N: As much as I appreciate your lovely story alerts and favoriting, I would love a couple of nice reviews. :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Warn the others_

_Madness finds us drifting in the calm of tidal eyes_

**Like Lions** by The Queen Killing Kings

* * *

Reid noticed more and more about his shoes every time he was forced to look down at them. For one, they were stained along the sides. The material was obviously not top of the line; the stitching near the toes was nearly in shreds. He had only worn these for a couple of months.

His mother used to tell him his shoes looked like he kicked rocks. She never understood it – he never played any sports, so that was no excuse. He never got into fights, even the ones "just for fun."

Reid never understood how children could participate in such barbaric tactics like "play fighting" and enjoy it.

In reality, Reid just liked to look at bugs. In the grass. Particularly during the rainy season.

Two meet two.

Looking back, his mother also used to tell him that he liked to zone out when he got nervous or embarrassed.

What did she know, anyway.

* * *

"Reid? Reid," Morgan said, tapping his shoulder.

Oh.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Reid said, wiping his face with his hands.

"I asked if it's true," he said. "Did you know the victim?"

"Yes," Reid said. "I might as well tell you all now. I didn't just know her; I loved her. Or so I thought. But I had to focus on my education, my career."

The team looked dumbstruck.

"So you left her with your son?" Rossi asked, unsure.

"No, no, I didn't know about him until this morning when we first got the case. I just put two and two together, I don't know. I had a feeling," he said.

"Dr. Spencer Reid, super genius, just had a feeling that the son of a victim was his own flesh and blood," Morgan said.

"Precisely," Reid said, matter-of-factly.

Sheriff Canuck shivered.

"It's creepy how much you remind me of him, now."

Suddenly, the team heard a glass shatter. Turning around, they saw none other than Lucas George.

* * *

"How the hell did you get out of your room without us hearing you?" Morgan shouted.

Lucas got wide eyed.

Then he screamed.

"You've got to calm down around him. You can't treat him like a normal kid," the sheriff explained.

Lucas glared over at her.

"Not that you aren't normal, of course."

Hotch was shocked, but not shocked enough to distract him from the main purpose of their visit.

"As shocking as this is, we need to interview Lucas. Now. The sooner we interview, the sooner we build a profile and the sooner we catch the killer," he said.

Hotch tried to coax Lucas over to the couch. Lucas wrestled out of his grasp.

"You never answered my question," Lucas said, angrily.

Hotch looked confused. _What was he talking about?_

"My question," he repeated. "Where am I going to go now? Mother is dead, grandmother is dead, grandfather is dead; where am I going?"

The room was silent. They didn't know what to say. Sure, Reid was his father – it hadn't been confirmed, but Reid wasn't denying it. But being his father didn't mean that he wanted to _be his father_.

Prentiss looked over at Reid. It was an awkward position to be in. If he didn't step up and take responsibility for his son, he would look like a jerk. If he did, he would look like an idiot.

"Nothing's set in stone yet…but I'm your father, so most likely, you would live with me," Reid said, hesitantly.

Reid had expected the boy to ask more questions; after all, he had been putting up a fit for hours waiting for the answer to this question.

But Lucas was content.

"What would you like to ask me?" Lucas asked Hotch, not taking his eyes off of Reid.

"Do you remember the night your mother was killed?"

"How could I forget?" Lucas asked.

* * *

_Lucas was angry._

_Livid, even._

_He stomped upstairs to his room, slamming the door shut. His stomach rumbled and groaned. He punched it._

"_Shut up!" he screamed._

_How could she be so stupid? How could she expect him to eat this late? To go off schedule, to go against protocol, to make a microwave dinner?_

_This would not do._

_He threw on his pajamas with the fire trucks on them. They were made special, just for him. He was fifteen and he knew it._

_But he liked fire trucks._

_They were red. He liked the color red._

_And yellow._

_That infuriated him; he only eats yellow food. Only yellow. Not beige, yellow._

_He flipped the light switch angrily and climbed into bed. He turned on the "Sounds of the Ocean" CD his grandfather got for him when he was six. It always calmed him down when he was angry._

_The sound of the crashing waves hitting the shore was soothing, and soon he drifted off to sleep._

_Crash._

_What was mother doing up so late? It's 1 o'clock. In the morning._

_This would not do._

_He hopped out of his bed. _

_Lucas was angry._

_Livid, even._

_He pulled open his door. It was dark. And quiet. He heard whimpering. Then muffled cries._

_He didn't mean to make mother cry._

"_Mother?" he cried._

_Silence._

_He carefully chose his footsteps. Suddenly, he heard a voice._

"_You deserved it, you stupid bitch!"_

_Lucas did not like that word._

_He started to scream. He walked over to mother's room._

"_Mother?" he called out again._

_Silence, followed by footsteps._

_Someone dressed in black came out of the room, pushing Lucas to the floor._

_He did not like that._

_He kicked and screamed, grabbing the figure's sleeve. It tore. Then he clawed at the figure's arm and they started to bleed._

"_FUCK!" they screamed._

_Lucas did not like that word, either. He did not like this man._

"_Mother?" he cried. "Mother?"_

_Then the figure ran away._

_Lucas' body hurt. So he laid there for a few minutes and got up when he felt better._

_He walked over to his mother's room, and looked inside._

_She was on the bed. She was bleeding._

_But she wasn't crying anymore. Lucas thought that meant she was happy now. He knew what happened._

_The blood was illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window._

_It was red._

_Lucas usually liked red._

_Not this time._

* * *

The team stood there in shock. Lucas had not only been in the next room during the murder, he had seen the unsub leaving the scene. He fought with him.

He cut him.

"Luke, do you still have the piece of the man's shirt?" Rossi asked.

Lucas was silent.

"Lucas, do you still have the piece of the man's shirt?" Reid asked again, adjusting Lucas' name.

He nodded his head and walked upstairs to his room.

It was minutes before they heard anything back.

"Where the hell is that kid?" Morgan asked.

"Lucas, will you let us see the piece of the man's shirt?" Reid shouted upstairs.

There was rumbling from upstairs, and finally Lucas came down, box in hand.

He handed the box to Reid and started to turn back around.

"Lucas, you need to stay here. With us," Prentiss explained.

"Why?" he asked. "It's time for me to read my philosophy text."

"What?" Prentiss asked.

Lucas pointed to his watch.

"It is 5:52," he said. "5:50 to 6:20, I always read my philosophy text."

"Don't you think you could make an exception, all things considering?"

Lucas stared at her.

_Exceptions._

How stupid did they think he was?

_**A/N: I truly, truly, appreciate all of you who have reviewed. Thank you for all of your support. :) It is always appreciated.**_

_**xXxOtAkU-444xXx: Thank you very much, I hope you keep liking it.**_

_**SSAjane: I love that movie! I wish I could have expanded more on the team's reactions during this chapter, but I felt under the circumstances it was better suited for a different time. Throughout the story, however, I will scatter little mini-reactions to the ordeal.**_

_**Once again, reviews are great and keep me going. To those of you who reviewed, thank you for your words of encouragement.**_


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